


False Spring

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-06-18
Updated: 1998-06-18
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:34:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	False Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

False Spring by Boudica

| 

_False Spring_

**Chapter 1**

Scotland, 1746 

The first rays of the sun slanting through the window woke Alyne and as she stirred, the first thing to come to her attention was smoke. Smoke? She jumped up from her pallet and turned to Ian. 

"Ian, what?" 

"Lassie it's the red devils, they're back," he said. 

"No! Ian." she said. 

"Ye must run, take to the woods," he said. 

"I'll not be leaving ye, yer not well," she answered. 

"If ye want to live to see another day then ye will go," said Ian. 

Alyne, knowing he was right but dreading to leave him leaned and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. She then turned and ran out the back door of the cottage, running until she was breathless and trembling. From her vantage point in the small copse of woods at the back of the house she could see the small regiment of English dragoons as they made their way to she front door. 

Her small goat shed was burning, they had been there first. She watched as they sighted and shot her four chickens and cut the goat's throat. _Oh, god Ian_ , she thought, _How could I have left him?_ But her common sense told her that if she had not fled that her blood would be even now soaking into the small garden at her front door. And how could she have carried Ian. He was so mortally wounded from that fateful day at Culloden she still didn't know how he had managed to walk all the way back home. He had stumbled onto her doorstep in summer, a good three months since the slaughter of the clans. She had been caring for him for several weeks and he had shown no sign of improvement. 

He was her husband's clansman and the closest thing she had to an uncle since she had lost her father and brothers on the bloody moor. Ian had brought her the news of her husband Brian's death. Had told her how Brian had charged the English, kilt dropped to the ground and how the English had stared in horror at the sight of all the clansmen in their long shirts and bare legs yelling their battle cry. How they had raised their huge claymores and fought bravely, although they were weak and half-starved. But the English far outnumbered them and were well fed and outfitted with rifles and bayonets and ample ammunition. 

Ian had said that Brian had taken down three English soldiers when he was bayoneted through the back and that he had fallen without a sound. Ian had believed that the stab wound had taken him through the heart and that he hadn't felt a thing when he fell. Alyne liked to believe that he fell not knowing they were defeated. Brian and Alyne had been handfast before Prince Charlie had called the clans to their fools mission. They had decided to marry before the priest only the day before Brian was to leave on the long march with the clans. They had lain together only once and Alyne had hoped that she might have a babe from their love. But as the month passed and her courses were on time she knew that her wish was thwarted. 

Her mind was brought from its ramblings at the sight of the English dragoons dragging Ian from the croft. He could barely stagger between them and she knew that he would never make it to the English garrison eight miles away. She said a quick prayer for his soul and was somewhat soothed that he would soon be reunited with his clansmen and his suffering would be over. For if he were to make it to the garrison they would certainly find that he was a traitor to the English rule and he would be executed posthaste. 

Suddenly there was a huge roar as the roof of the croft burst in flames. Her home! She must put out the fire, but the garrison was still in sight and she had to remain in hiding for several agonizing minutes. When their red backs were no longer visible she rushed to the house taking her long skirt off to beat at the flames. She fought the fire as if it were the English themselves and she flailed at the flames until she could no longer lift her arms to swing the now singed and ragged skirt. She could see her efforts were useless as all that remained of her home were the rock walls and even they were leaning crookedly inward. 

Her mind took on a deathly calm as she surveyed the scene. No food, no home, no husband, nothing. As she looked down she noticed that her bodice was ruined and soot covered, in fact she was almost black with the smoke. Her skin did not even show an inch of white and her red hair was obscured with ash. 

Her numb mind could only focus on one thing. To get this filth off of her. She stumbled off in the direction of the river, the river that was half a day's walk away. The byrn where she had taken her drinking water was too shallow for the cleansing she needed. She stubbornly focused on the cool, deep water and trudged ahead. She reached the banks when the sun was straight overhead and she could not remember how she had gotten there, only that her goal was in sight. Sinking to her knees, she stripped off her ruined bodice and noticed abstractedly that she had lost her shoes somewhere. In only her shift she strode into the water, deeper and deeper until it was up to her waist. Then scooping up handfuls of river sand she scoured her body until no trace of fire was upon her. Leaning back again and again she rinsed her hair until it was fresh smelling and soft again. 

Overtaken with an uncontrollable drowsiness she swam to the far side and crawled up to bank to a patch of heather. She had never felt a softer bed and rolled onto her side, pillowing her head on her arm and fell into an exhausted sleep. 

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Duncan MacLeod sat resting in the saddle under the shade of a great oak tree. His mind wandering over nothing in particular since he had nowhere to go and no one to see. He surveyed the area and found it deserted. Feeling, he supposed, lonely, he was unsettled. Being alone so much had become a way of life, but sometimes it became tiresome. Giving a deep sigh, he nudged his horse into a walk toward the river. Thinking of a cool wash he was unprepared when his horse snorted and shied from something on the ground. Almost unseated he looked for the cause of the horses fear and saw, lying on her side, curled into a ball a lovely young woman. Her auburn hair half obscured her face but he could see creamy white skin and the tip of small upturned nose. Her slender arm was draped over the swell of her rounded hip, her small neat feet curled under her. She was so still that he feared her dead. But with careful observation he could see that she was breathing, although shallowly. He dismounted expecting to have her wake with a start. When she did not move he moved closer to her taking in the shift with it's burned edges and the horrible burns on her hands. 

_Poor lassie,_ he thought, _what has happened to ye?_

Reaching out to touch her he noticed that her skin was icy cold even though the day was warm. 

_Ye need a warm, soft bed and hot tea, that'll do ye a world of good,_ he thought. 

Of course finding a warm bed would take some doing. Calculating the distance to the nearest inn he decided on the Ox Head, which if he guessed right was about two miles south of here. Dropping onto his knees he eased his arms under her and lifted her gently. When she still did not wake his concern increased although she did burrow her head into his broad chest. Steeling himself for the two mile walk he headed up the bank, his horse following docilely behind. After about a half mile he had to rest and sat on a tree stump. At this change in movement her hand came up and grasped his shirt at his left shoulder and a soft moan escaped her lips. He gathered her more securely and kissed the top of her head. 

"Shhh, lassie, ye rest," he whispered to her, "I'm here." 

Her hand relaxed and fell from his shirt, but not before he had noticed the carved silver wedding band on her right hand. 

It was almost dark when he reached the Ox Head Inn and he was glad to see its shabby exterior. Carrying the lass had taken all his strength and he had a terrible blister on his foot. Thinking of getting the boot off and a tankard of ale, he kicked the door open and strode up to the bar still carrying the girl. Realizing the picture this must present, he spoke the first words that came to mind. 

"Barkeep a room, my wife has taken ill." 

"Yessir," the barkeep answered, gaping at the half naked girl. 

"'Follow me sir,"' he said, turning and giving a quick wink at his cronies, bounded up the rickety stairs. 

After the tavernmaster left, he placed her gently on the bed and dropped to a stool, his arms quivering. 

"You might look like a small lass but by god your heavy," he said to her still sleeping form. 

Gingerly taking his boot off he examined his foot. Realizing a little too late that if he were going to get his ale the boot would have to go back on. He gritted his teeth, returned the boot and went down to the tavern. He had several ales and meat and bread amidst curious stares from the other bar patrons. 

He limped back up to the room and looked longingly at the bed, the only bed, that she was still soundly sleeping in. After a short deliberation, he sighed and spread his cloak on the none to clean floor and lay down to sleep. 

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Alyne struggled up through layers of dreams to find herself in a bed in a strange room. Moonlight streamed through the window and lit the room almost like midday. She still had the unreal feeling that she was possibly still asleep and except for the urgent need of the chamber pot she would have considered this all a dream. Seeing the dark form on the floor she tiptoed around it in search of the pot. Curiosity got the better of her as she came back to kneel in front of him. He was lying on his side on a dark cloak, dressed in loose shirt, breeches and knee boots. Feeling a strange sense of calm she studied his face. It was a kind face, quite handsome with a tender curve to his mouth. He had curly long black hair and a mustache. Broad of shoulder and long of limb he was as fine as any man she had ever seen. She could not bring herself to feel afraid. But just kneeled there watching him sleep. She couldn't stop herself from reaching out to gently touch his cheek. When her hand touched his skin his hand jerked up and grabbed her wrist pulling them both up onto their knees. He looked at her wild eyed and then realizing who she was released her arm. 

"Och, lassie it's you, you shouldn't go sneaking up on a man when he's sleeping," he said. 

"I, I, I'm sorry," she stammered, and massaged the skin of her bruised wrist. 

"I dinna mean to hurt ye," he said and took her wrist and rubbed his thumb gently up and down it. "I believe yer alright," he said and suddenly grinned at her. 

"No, no, no I'm not I can't be I, I don't know you and where am I and, and I'm just not," she said dissolving into tears. The flood of tears had opened and she was wracked with sobs, he gathered her onto his lap again and caressed her, muttering soothing nonsense words as he would to comfort a small child. 

"Yer alright now, I'm Duncan MacLeod and I'll not let anything harm ye. Shhh now it's alright," he said. 

He rocked back and forth on his heels while she whispered, "It's all gone, house, husband, my family. His arms tightened around her and he pressed his head close to hers. He held her until her sobs had quieted to sniffles and she had wiped her face on the hem of his shirt. Then he turned her face to him and without knowing why he, placed his mouth over hers. She leaned up into him, blindly reaching behind his neck pulling them both down on the floor. She was like a wild thing, gone with grief and wanting. He met her mouth, opening it with his kisses and placed his hand on her breast, kneading until the nipple was taut and standing. He then opened her shift and began kissing down her neck. She moaned and arched her back giving way to trembling as his mouth traveled down her belly over her curls and into her. Her mind was in a turmoil. Wanting to call her body back into some sense of order but knowing it was too late. She had never felt this way before, the wedding night fumblings were nothing like this and she found her body stronger than her mind. Wanting more and more and more of him. 

Bringing himself back up to her mouth he kissed her and said, "I'll not take you on the floor like a heathen," he lifted her to the bed and began undressing. Seeing him unrobed was like flame to her fire as she watched him untie his breeches. She also had never seen a man before (it was dark, her wedding night) and she found his aroused state so very beautiful. He reached for the hem of her shift lifting it over her head, pushing her back on the bed, laying his full weight on her. Feeling him hard against her belly she reached down to stroke him delighting in his velvet smoothness. "More," she whispered, "more." 

He leaned up on his elbows taking in her nakedness. "God yer lovely," he murmured. Using his knee to open her legs, reaching down he guided himself into her. As he did her eyes widened, as she felt the hard length of him filling her. She was almost shocked there was no pain and overwhelmed with the pleasure of it. She matched him stroke for stroke arching into him until they both collapsed, having reached the peak together. She clasped him to her wrapping her legs and arms around him not wanting him to part from her. He raised himself on elbows and kissed her over and over again. 

"I dinna know yer name," he whispered. 

"Its Alyne," she answered. 

"Alyne, Alyne lovely Alyne," he murmured. Rolling onto his side he faced her, "I shouldna have taken ye when ye were so helpless I am say sorry, I couldna help myself," he said. 

She silently embraced him. 

"Ye shouldna be sorry, I wanted ye say very much and I thank ye for giving me such pleasure as I never dreamed." 

He gathered her to him, holding her until they both, overcome with exhaustion succumbed to sleep. 

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Duncan awoke feeling a distinct draft. Looking down he noticed that she had the blanket over her head and was intently studying him. 

Raising one eyebrow he said, "Alyne darlin, have ye lost somethin?" 

Her head popped up, she dropped the blanket down and she looked up at him, blushing furiously. Then she dropped her head. "Oh, Duncan, I uh...." Covering her embarrassment with anger she said, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, man ye gave me a fright." 

He widened his eyes in mock fear. "Such words from a blushing maiden, I am shocked my lady." 

At this she broke into helpless giggles. Then looking at him shyly she said, "I wanted to see ye, all of ye in the daylight. The moonlight doesna do ye justice." 

"Do ye mean that ye, a widowed woman, have never seen an unclothed man?" he asked. 

Then the whole story came out about her wedding night. How she had only lain with Brian that one night and knew little or nothing of men. "Well then let me show ye," he grinned. "'I had lost me head last night, so overcome was I with yer beauty. Let me teach ye all the ways I know of loving women." He laid her gently on the bed and proceeded to make gentle and thorough love to her. Her mind and body soared with the new sensations. All reservations she had fell away and she answered him in complete trust. As they were resting afterwards, both of them scratching from bedbug bites, she said "Duncan, do ye think ye could possibly get us a bite to eat, I'm horribly famished." 

"At yer service my lady," he answered. He grabbed his breeches, pulled them on quickly, forsaking shirt and boots, and padded out the door and down the stairs. 

She jumped out of the bed, wanting to put some distance between her and all of the likely vermin living in the straw tick mattress. Reaching down she grabbed his shirt and pulled it over her head, smoothing out the stiff part where she had wiped her nose on it last evening. Using her fingers as a comb she did the best she could to straighten out the tangles in her hair. Pulling it over her shoulders and giving it a sniff she could still smell smoke. "Ah, I am in sore need of a good wash," she said to herself. 

The door banged open and there was Duncan with a tray of cheese and bread and wine. He carried it to the little table and set it down in front of her. Reaching immediately for the bread she said, between bites, "Uhm, this is lovely, uhm, so good." 

Duncan sat back patiently, watching her eat. Knowing she must be starving he didn't join her but did hope she might leave a little bit for him since he was feeling quite empty too. 

When she was finished she said, "Ahh, I feel ever so much better. Aren't ye going to eat?" 

He said, "I was hoping to, but seeing that ye have only left enough for a small mouse, I don't believe I shall." Picking up the tanker of wine he quaffed it in one swallow. "This will have to see me through," he said. 

"Heavens man, why did ye not grab some food, did ye think I would bite ye?" 

"Well, I was hoping ye might, but a little bit later," he teased. "I have got some errands to see to in the town, I've got to go out, I'll get something there. I've ordered ye a bath, pulling his clean shirt out of his pack he said, "Put this on till I get back and I'll wear the dirty one." 

Suddenly shy, she hesitated before pulling the shirt over her head. He tossed her the clean one and feigned disinterest in her nakedness until she was covered. "I want ye to take this till I return," he said, handing her the small dirk he had carried since he was a boy. "Dinna let anyone in but the wash women." He was thinking of the assorted rabble in the tavern below who had witnessed him carrying her up and would undoubtedly notice his leaving without her. "I'll be quick," he said, closing the door behind him. 

The charwoman was up directly with the copper pot, followed closely by four rather dirty young girls carrying the hot water. "Missus MacLeod," the woman said, "ye are quite a lucky woman, yer husband has had me girls down to the apothecary for some rose soap, said as ye didn't like the lye. If'n ye need anything else ye jest holler down don't ye know." 

The Missus MacLeod had thrown her and before Alyne could gather her wits to say anything they had all trouped out amid much eye rolling and giggling. 

The package of rose soap lay on the little table next to the tub and she carefully unwrapped it raising it to her nose for a deep whiff. She shed the shirt quickly and stepped into the waters. As her bottom made contact with the water she jumped up at the stinging, but then carefully eased down to soak. As she soaped her hair and body she thought over her situation. _Alyne,_ she thought, _what are ye doing here? Giving yerself to a strange man like a harlot off the street. Have ye no shame?_ But as she thought she could find no shame in what she and Duncan had shared. She knew she was with a good kind man. Her body had never known such feelings before and she felt safe and almost happy here with him. She thought of her family and knew they would not deny her this happiness and decided to let time tell. 

As she was drying her body and hair with the rough towel the door slowly swung open, so quietly she did not hear it. As she looked up expecting to see Duncan she was horrified to see a large hairy man leering at her. She was stunned to see the dirk lying on the floor nearly four feet behind her. Clutching the towel to her front she slowly eased back towards the dirk. The man shut the door behind him and leaning into it he said, "My if ye aren't a fast piece, with them long legs and all that fine hair." 

Alyne found herself repulsed by the sheer nastiness of him. His dirty beard and foul clothes were awful but the stink of him was worse. His teeth appeared to be furred and, god help her, he was drooling. As he slowly advanced so did she retreat. As he made a quick lunge for her she grabbed the dirk, which he slapped out of her hand like it was a child's toy. As he fell forward onto her he leered, "Now give me a taste of that sweet honeypot," as his hands found her thighs and gave a huge prise. 

Suddenly the door burst open and there was Duncan holding what appeared to be a lady's dress with a decidedly ferocious look on his face. Grabbing the man by his hair he jerked him off her, kneeing him in the belly as he pushed him backwards out the door and over the railing into the tavern below. Not quite finished, Duncan stalked slowly into the hall and down the stairs. As he approached the fallen man who was still on his back on one of the tavern tables, the man pleaded, "Leave off sir, I didn't mean no harm, honest I didn't." 

Duncan pulled him upright by his shirt until his face was inches from the man's. "Get yer filthy carcass out of here and by God if I even lay eyes on ye again yer a dead man." 

The man needed no second urging and was up and out the door posthaste. Duncan took a long look around the tavern making sure that anyone else with the same idea would certainly think twice about it. Then he hurried up the stairs taking them two at a time. 

"Are ye alright? If that filthy bastard hurt ye I'll have his head. Dammit if ye weren't say lovely this never would have happened." 

Alyne, clutching the very wet towel to her middle could only think of one thing to say. "I'm sorry," she said, although she was not sure what she was sorry for. She was certainly not sorry he thought she was lovely. 

"Och, ye needn't tell me yer sorry, I shouldn't have raised me voice to ye, I was just say damn furious with that bastard." He grabbed her arms and looked her up and down slowly, pulling the towel aside to make sure she was unharmed. Seeing the bruises beginning on the inside of her thighs he said, "Yer poor wee legs," stroking them gently. 

Alyne stepped back, for his stroking was much more than comforting. Thinking of the soreness between her legs she decided that that part of her anatomy needed a rest. She pulled his hands up and kissed them and deftly changed the subject. "What have ye brought man? I think I saw a lady's dress in yer hands before ye gave that lout the heave ho." 

Grinning he answered, "Aye ye did see a dress. And also a shift, shoes and a kirtle. As much a I like it ye canna go around naked forever. I hope they are of the right fit." 

He looked around, picking up pieces of clothing until he had everything but one shoe. Opening the door he found it laying in the hallway and presented it to her on one knee. "Yer slipper me lady." 

"Thank ye kind sir," she answered smiling. 

The dress was quite fine and of a navy blue velvet, with creamy lace edging around it's square neckline. The shoes were black silk with little bows on the toes. The shift, snowy cotton and the kirtle was embroidered in gold thread and hung low on her hips. She dressed quickly and was surprised to find everything fit perfectly except the shoes which were a little too big. 

"How did ye ever get the right fit," she asked. "It seems that ye have much experience in buying ladies' dresses. Are ye in the habit of finding barely clothed ladies out on the moor?" 

"I have never found a half dressed lady quite as nice as you," he teased, "and if I found the right dress size it is because my hands have such a good memory. I believe yer feet must have been neglected for me to have gotten the wrong size. I'll remember that for the future. Now let us be going," he said. 

"Going? Where would we go?" she asked. 

"Well if I'm to understand ye right ye have no house and unless yer over fond of sleeping in other peoples dirt I thought we might ride out for a while. I'd much rather sleep in the heather than here and I believe any food I can hunt would be preferable to this slop. So come lass we'll be going," he said. 

He took her hand and led her out of the tavern to the stables. Tossing the stable lad a coin he instructed him to get his saddlebags and tack on his horse. As the bay gelding was led out she approached him hand out. 

"Ooh hello their ye lovely lad," she said as she stroked the horses velvet nose. "Ye are a fine one," she crooned into the horse's ear. "Duncan where ever did ye get such a fine horse. My Da would have been happy to have such a beast in his stable just for the mucking of his stall." 

Duncan decided to tell her as much of the truth as he could. He couldn't very well tell her that the horse was from the last immortal whose head he had taken. The horse was too fine to leave in the woods and he had taken him, selling his own horse at the first town he had come to. 

"He was a gift from an....acquaintance," he said. 

"I canna wait to be ridin' him," she said. 

"Then let's be off," he said as he mounted and pulled her up in front of him on the saddle. 

While they rode they talked. About her family, how her father had been stablemaster to the McDonald and had gone with him to fight for the Prince Tearlach, leaving his daughter behind, because he couldn't stand the thought of "any rough lads with hands like anvils riding his babes," as he called his horses. Of Brian McKenzie and how they had been promised since they were children. How she had loved him and wanted to bear his children. And her mother who had died when she was five. Alyne's only memory of her was a scent of rose water. The rose water, she later found out that her father saved weeks of his wages to buy her mother every year at Hogmanay. Her brothers were grown and married while she was still a young lass. 

Duncan told her as much as he could about his family, which wasn't much. Only that he had been raised a foundling and that his mother had loved him as fiercely as if he had been born of her. And that his Da was a strong man, a leader of the MacLeods. 

They rode till midday and stopped at a stream to rest. Alyne searched the knapsack and found he had oatcakes and ale in bottles packed from the inn. She spread these on a handkerchief with all the ceremony of high tea and they sat to eat. They then decided to have a swim and Duncan announced his need of a bath. Alyne returned to the knapsack for the carefully wrapped remains of the soap. 

"Duncan," she said, "I dinna thank ye for the soap. It was say vera kind of ye to buy it special for me." 

Duncan walked to her and grasped her by the waist. "I dinna buy it just fer ye, I wanted to see how it tastes," and he nibbled suggestively at her neck. And began to busily undo the hooks at the back of her dress. She started with his shirt and had it over his head and was reaching for his breech lacings before he even had the hooks finished. She stepped out of her dress as he kicked of his boots and breeches. They walked nude into the water hand in hand. Alyne enjoyed the novel feeling of the slippery feel of his skin in the water and the buoyancy of her body. Her breasts bobbed against his chest as he kissed her. Her hand found his hardness, so warm even in the cool water. She moaned softly as his hands grasped her bottom and pressed her into him. He stood with her still against his chest and walked her to the bank where he laid her gently down and entered her. She arched her back with the pleasure of it and moaned louder in cadence with his thrusts. As his hand reached down between them to touch her she reached her peak as the spasms wracked her body. Feeling lightheaded she could only grasp him tighter when he surged inside her to his finish. He lay with her while her breathing quieted and giving her a quick kiss was up for the soap. She lay quietly feeling wonderfully alive and content as the noon sun warmed her body. He was happily lathering his body when she sat bolt upright. 

"Oh God, Duncan," she almost screamed. At this he gave such a start that he squeezed the soap until it soared over his head and looked at her as if she'd gone mad. 

"What if we've started a babe? I never thought, no, this can't be. I can't have a babe. I'm not really marrit. And, and, ye must be a silky!" At this new thought her eyes became as round as saucers. "That's it, yer a silky come from the sea to bewitch me. I knew it wasn't natural to feel so much pleasure with a man. Oh, I've lain with a silky! What will become of me," she said, more to herself than Duncan. "That's why yer body is so perfect, no scars like a normal man and why my heart pounds just to see ye undressed." 

At this new revelation Duncan tried to suppress his smile and only half succeeded in doing so. He rinsed first and then walked slowly out of the water towards her. She squeaked and started crabbing backward up the bank. Looking down she noticed she was naked and suddenly alarmed ran for her shift. She crammed it over her wet head and only succeeded in getting it half down her body where it was stuck to her in as far as Duncan could see, all the right places. 

"Alyne," he said, "ye must try to calm yerself. Ye needn't worry about a babe, I canny give ye one. And as for my being a silky, do ye really think I look like a seal?" he grinned. 

His infectious grin did not have its usual effect and she narrowed her eyes at him. 

"Do ye really mean it about the babe?" she asked. 

"Unfortunately, I'm quite sure," he answered. "And I haven't been near the sea for years," he added dryly. He struggled into his breeches and approached her. 

"Alyne, I pledge to ye on me father's grave that I will never do anything to harm ye, and that I will protect ye as long as ye stay with me," he said, dropping to one knee and bending his head over her hand. She fell to her knees too and looked him in the eye. 

"Duncan, I accept yer pledge and only ask one thing of ye. That ye never tell me an untruth. I may be a county lass, full of superstitions but I'm telling ye man I sense ye are different." 

The pledging finished there rose an uneasy silence between them. He stood to take his shirts and breeches back to the water and to find the soap. She followed him into the water and taking the newly found bar proceeded to wash his clothes in a most efficient manner. As she spread the clean things on a rock to dry, he laid the blanket from his pack on the ground and laid down in the sun. She sat on the edge of the blanket with her head on her knees. Both of them brooding. Duncan, not knowing what else to say to her, stood and squeezed into his breeks. 

"I'll see if I canna find a wee beastie for our supper," he said as he pulled the rifle from the pack. Turning to her he tossed her the dirk. It landed on it's tip in the ground inches from her feet. "Keep that with ye until I get back." And he stalked off into the nearby forest. 

_Duncan,_ he thought to himself, _what have ye gotten yerself into?_ She's a fine lass and comely too, but her thinking he was an enchanted seal come to steal her to the sea had almost unhinged her mind. What would she do when she found out what he really was? He was sooner to finding out than he had known. 

Before he had gone 100 yards from her she noticed a rider approaching from the north. When the rider came closer she was able to see it was a man. Not dressed like any man she had ever seen before, and riding a fine strawberry roan mare. He was dressed, she thought, in pale blue silk breeks and coat, with fine gold buttons all down the front. And his cravat was yards of billowing cream satin. Instead of sturdy boots he was wearing hose and black shoes with buckles on the toes. His hair was long and a mass of curls, much nicer than her own hair she thought. He had a very narrow mustache that sat on the top of his lip like cream for the cat to lick off. He rode up to her on the little mincing mare. 

"Bonjour Madame," he said. "What is ze little belle fille lack yourself doing out in ze woods all alone?" She was speechless and could only stare at him with her mouth slightly open. This did not dissuade him in the least and he dismounted and approached her. "You are not alright?" he questioned. "Even if your mind is not quite there, your body certainly is. And I have naveer seen a more finely made wooman as you." He reached out to touch her and she found her tongue. 

"I am quite in charge of me mind and I'll ask to take yer furrin hands off me person," she spat out, eyes blazing. 

"Oh, she has ze fire also! I say to myself, Phillip, you are ze only man in ze world who could find ze lovely fille out in ze woods of zis god forsaken Scotland." 

As he finished this helpful bit of information Duncan strode into the clearing. He had felt the other, and had come as fast as he could. The Frenchman's head snapped up before Alyne could even see Duncan. 

He strode into the clearing carrying a slender sword Alyne had never seen before. "I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan Macleod," he said. 

The Frenchman answered "And I am Phillip Dubois and have come to take your feelthy head, you Scottish pig." 

Duncan turned to Alyne, "Run! Get yer self as far from here as ye can." 

She hesitated only for a moment and picking up the hem of her shift ran as hard as she could for the woods. 

"So now we are alone, Scottish scut, and I will proceed for I am in a hurry to be rid of this place," Phillip challenged. 

"I'd like to see ye try," Duncan answered as his sword met Phillips with a bone shattering crash. 

_Feint and parry,_ Duncan thought as he studied the Frenchman's' moves. He had the Frenchman's style down before their swords had met more than three times. His confidence building as he met every move the Frenchman had. He fought much like all Frenchmen and was quite predictable. Duncan, was therefore very surprised when he deviated from all the taught moves and stabbed him through the side. Shocked, Duncan went for the kill. Spinning so that his back faced the Frenchman he stabbed backwards into his stunned opponents belly, then turned again and took his head. Duncan sank down to his knees, mortally wounded. As the Quickening began, his body jerked convulsively as each bolt of lighting struck. He held his sword, his beloved blade, up to the sky and the lighting channeled down it into him. He had collapsed on the ground before the Quickening had finished. 

Alyne, watching all this from the woods, was more frightened than she had ever been in all her life. She was certain that Duncan was dead and as soon as the lightning stopped hitting him she ran to him, her heart in her throat. 

"Oh Duncan," she wept, laying her head on his chest. "Yer poor battered body." Clutching his shirt in her hands she lay on him and wept uncontrollably. Trying not to think of the other dead man whose head was severed from his body. 

When Duncan came back to himself with a ragged breath, she jumped backwards, landing on her behind with a thump. "No, no, it can't be, ye were dead! I know ye were, ye were not breathing." 

Duncan sat up slowly, still shaken. "Alyne," he said, "we have to talk. I'll tell ye everything." 

* * *

She sat staring at him with a glazed look in her eyes while her told her everything. About immortals and the gathering. She never said a word, even when he asked her to understand. She crawled to the blanket and laid down to sleep, shivering. 

After he had buried the Frenchman, he laid down next to her curling himself into her back. She gave no response that she knew that he was there but did not push him away either. 

The next morning they rose early and she went about the business of packing silently, never looking at him. He did not try to speak to her, hoping that in time she would come to accept him again. 

They rode for four days in this way, neither speaking. Alyne seemed to have slipped into a constant state of shock. When Duncan watched her face all he could see in her eyes was blankness. He took care of her, helping her mount and dismount the Frenchman's horse, bringing her food and covering her gently each night with the only blanket. As each day slipped by, Duncan's heart sank deeper and deeper into despair. 

On the morning of the fourth day as they were mounting a small rise, they came across a party of dragoons. There were five of them, resplendent in their red coats and hats. The dragoons broke into a gallop when they spied them and raced to them in a flanking position. 

The commanding officer dismounted and approached Duncan. "I ask you sir, to dismount on the order of his Majesty King George," he said. Duncan dismounted and so did Alyne in her slow and distant way. 

Alyne approached the captain slowly, looking at him as if he were some new species of bug she had never seen before. All the dragoon eyes followed her as she came to stand directly in front of the captain. Suddenly, she screamed "AAAAAAAAH," lunging at the captain and plunging Duncan's dirk deep into the hollow at his throat. The huge gout of blood from the captain's throat splashed her face and she turned to Duncan, still screaming. The captain sank to his knees and fell forward on his face, dead. The other dragoons, recovering from their shock, sighted their rifles and fired at her. Her body jumped from all four shots and she crumpled backwards. 

Duncan broke from his apathy with a howl of pain and rage. Taking his sword from behind his back he impaled the first dragoon to his left and quickly slashed at the man to his right. The dragoons having to reload their weapons were taken by surprise and none recovered enough to defend himself from his anger. Duncan slashed at them until they were all dead and he still slashed at them until he could move no more. He collapsed to the ground grasping his hands behind his head and sobbed. He remained like that for what seemed like an eternity until his breathing calmed and he rose, covered with blood, hers and theirs. He walked slowly to her body and lifted her in his arms. Not wanting her to rest near the English dead he laid her over the mare's back and mounted his gelding rode. 

When he had ridden several hours he dismounted on a beautiful cliff that had a view of all the valley. Taking her gently down from the horse, he laid her in a hastily dug grave, covering her with heavy stones in a cairn to keep the wild animals from getting at her. He dropped to one knee and said a silent goodbye to her. Then he turned, mounted the gelding and rode down the hill. He rode slowly, because he had no one to see and nowhere to go. 

**The End**

* * *

Author's Note: A "silky" is an enchanted seal of Scottish legend that comes from the sea and takes on the guise of a handsome dark haired man . The "silky" enchants a mortal woman and lures her into marriage, then he takes her back under the sea to be his slave. 

© 1998   
Please send comments to the author! 

06/18/1998 

Graphics by Moyra's WebJewels   
  
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